


And Spectacularly Mangled

by dicks



Series: Stray Capacitance [3]
Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: 1859, 8059, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-13
Updated: 2013-02-13
Packaged: 2017-11-29 04:02:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/682545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dicks/pseuds/dicks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kyouya had tasted his share of victory the first night Hayato was spreading wide against the kitchen table and begging for a fuck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Spectacularly Mangled

Kyouya’s lips curved into a not-smile smile.

Here was what Kyouya thought of Gokudera Hayato: Inconvenience. Perhaps that was the main problem because he thought of other people as a nonentity, as an existence that did not warrant any emotional impact from Kyouya. Inconvenience on the other hand, Kyouya thought, was like an itch— a fucking annoying pain-suffering itch and one couldn’t stop scratching until they bleed. But here Gokudera Hayato stepped into his personal bubble, so close that Kyouya could smell the transparent whiff of his perfume mixed with already-dried sweat and cigarette smoke. Kyouya’s eyes narrowed slightly. Bastard didn’t even flinch.

Kyouya grabbed Hayato roughly by the collar and pulled him closer until Hayato was body-to-body close and breathing hard and twitching and combustive, and Kyouya’s not-smile smile turned into a small-smile smile.

-

Not until their fourth fuck did they kiss. “You’re a mess and pathetic,” Kyouya had said “Man is the only creature that refuses to be what he is.”

“Camus uh? I’m impressed.”

“Don’t be. I’m not inept,” Kyouya had replied but Hayato shrugged it off, rolled his eyes and bit the skin at the side of Kyouya’s neck (this was what he discovered shortly after— that ironically, Hayato liked to bite) then up to his jawline, further up reaching for the lips and then later— Kyouya detested himself when he pulled the other in for another kiss.

# -

Something he avoided: attachment.

Kyouya had lost both of his parents when he was eleven. Never again would he allow himself such thing as emotional dependency. Separation was unpleasant, an inevitable occurrence and living beings, Kyouya thought, living beings were a flux, had too little of everything, too much of nothing, but eventually destructible; and Kyouya was content living his life in detachment from these overly simplistic plant-eating individuals.

But Hayato was all over the place and underneath his skin and sometimes Kyouya’s nerves prickled just from a slight brush of the skin— sometimes Kyouya found himself comfortable enough to stop from leaning a little too close out of compulsion— sometimes in a room full of people when their eyes locked Hayato’s lips tugged in the corner into a uneven smirk like he knew all Kyouya’s secrets— 

Something he tried to avoid and was alarming close to failing: Gokudera Hayato.

-

They were seated at a round table for ten in an over-crowded restaurant that smelled of burnt garlic from every corner of the room. It was one of the herbivorous creature’s birthdays and Kyouya tried not to think what managed to coax him to even be in the same  room with the likes of them. He looked around the table, utterly bored, completely alert to the sound of Hayato jabbering to Takeshi next to him. Across the table, over her plate, Bianchi was glaring at him under her goggle-covered face which probably, definitely wasn’t just simple a glare, but Kyouya ignored that too because he was good at ignoring things that did not matter.

“You smell like him.” he sneered and didn’t even need to look to know that Hayato was trying to hide a flinch.

“Stop sniffing me, fucker.” Hayato hissed after a moment, followed by a loud clatter sound as the spoon dropped on the plate as if to prove a point. Kyouya believed there was no point to prove but still, he was proving his point by _not_ proving his point.

-

That night Kyouya shoved Hayato down to the floor and fucked him raw by the foot of his bed, with their sweaty foreheads pressed against each other and with Hayato’s nails digging at his back to almost pierce the skin. But it didn’t hurt enough, it never did and Kyouya pounded furiously, ruthlessly, with every intent to break the other man, and angry— angrier at himself for being angry.

And afterwards, with his cock still balls-deep inside, and with Hayato’s fingers curled bony-tight around Kyouya’s wrist— like he cared, like he wouldn’t let go— Kyouya thought about the newfound numbness manifested in his chest, as if everything was spectacularly mangled into one enormous vacuum in which all the things existed; thought about the first time, after he walked in the kitchen close to midnight to find Gokudera alone and breakable and sitting on the counter, Kyouya wasn’t the same person as he was back then; thought about squeezing the pale slender neck with both of his hands, tight enough to crush the windpipe but all he said was, “You can stop pretending now.”

For a moment Hayato looked at him with a crippled gaze that nearly accessing, that nearly deciding, like it mattered somehow and when he finally let go of Kyouya’s wrist, Kyouya almost, _almost_ wanted to swallow back his words, and to keep on pretending to be pretending. He didn’t.

“I need a shower,” was all Hayato said before turning his back and staggering to the bathroom. The bed was still perfectly made.

-

Somewhere between the short journey from the Licavoli’s mansion and to the car Takeshi said, “We should talk at some point.”

“We don’t.” Kyouya responded, clipped and short because he was good at ignoring things that did not matter. There wasn’t anything to talk about; not between them, not about the way the Rain guardian spent an unnecessary amount of time hanging around Hayato, not about the one time he caught them face-blushing, finger-lacing under the table, and there were marks— identified but not so visible— purple and blue on the shoulder blades, and fingerprints on the hipbones. When he first found out he accidentally broke his bathroom door with his tonfa. There were things he would rather break, but then he wasn’t prepared to acknowledge the significance behind his own actions as yet; instead Kyouya left his marks too, sometimes a little too deep, sometimes a little too permanent— for the world to see; but fuck no, they were not going to talk about it because there was nothing to figure out, definitely, not ever.

“But hey, don’t you even—”

Kyouya glared at Takeshi who was walking two steps behind him in his pressed-up suits sans tie— sans _tie_. And thought about Hayato for all his recklessness and unpredictability; and broken capillaries underneath the skin and it almost came out as a growl, “Don’t even try.”

“Right. Okay,” Yamamoto said. “Super.”

The rest of the journey back to Japan was uneventful.

-

“Turn over.”

They were on Kyouya’s bed, in Kyouya’s room and next door on the other side of the wall was Ryohei, probably tossing and turning on his bed because Hayato was an obnoxiously loud, demanding fuck. Hayato turned over, spread his legs wide and looked at Kyouya right in the eyes like he had nothing to hide. Like he had nothing.

“Spread your legs wider.” One of Kyouya’s hands circled around Hayato’s cock, stroking none-too-softly and the other reaching under the balls.

“Yes.”

“Tell me what do you want?”

“Just whatever idio— just fuck me.”

And then Kyouya did. And he did again later in the bathroom. Hayato was bending over with his hands against the slippery wall supporting himself, and Kyouya slid his cock in, without preparation and was moving in deep-backbreaking, short-quick thrusts and repeated until he came all over inside him again. And afterwards when they were getting dressed, Kyouya did not say a word, did not say fuck you stray bitch, did not need to say you’re mine, mine, mine alone, definitely did not say just fucking wait— and Kyouya stayed tight-lipped until Hayato closed the door behind him.

-

“You’re compliant. Maybe you should get hurt more often.”

“I don’t need your help.” It was easy to just push him away but for some reason Kyouya found himself not and he blamed it on the blood-loss.

“Yeah? Yeah, but it won’t fucking kill you just to admit you know.”

Solo mission went wrong, Kyouya came back with a fresh bullet hole just below his shoulder but he could live with that. But this, Kyouya thought— this was new, almost worryingly domestic, because Hayato was cleaning his wound and for the first time they were both on his bed and not fucking.

Neither of them used to this domesticity, at least with each other they were not. He stared at the other as those fingers worked with the bandages, and then those same fingers went to Kyouya’s good arm and gave a tentative squeeze— and this, Kyouya thought in disequilibrium and through the incessant pounding at the back of his head, was something he couldn’t, shouldn’t get familiar with.

“Don’t,” he muttered mechanically, malice lacking and Hayato grunted impassively in reply but ignored him anyway.

"Wake the fuck up bastard, hey. Your bandages soaked through,” Hayato said to him later, while tugging on the bed covers and it was five-thirty in the morning and Hayato was still wearing the same clothes he was wearing the night before. Kyouya sat up in the bed, glared at Hayato’s downturned lips and uncharacteristically messy hair and when he woke up again for the second time afterwards, Hayato was on the bed next to him sleeping.

-

It wasn’t about winning nor was it about wanting. Kyouya had tasted his share of victory the first night Hayato was spreading wide against the kitchen table and begging for a fuck. It wasn’t about wanting. Why would Kyouya wish for something he already possessed? It was about preserving what belonged to him.

“I’m not going to stake my claim on something that is already mine,” Kyouya said quietly. They were back in the kitchen where it had begun and nowhere close to the end.

-


End file.
